Another poem of the resurrection.

Won’t you come with me
          and gaze on ancient mystery?–
                        an eighth-day tale,
                        a harrowed hell,
                        the unnailed nail.

Come, come with me
          and you will see
                        the end of night,
                        men dressed in white,
                        lightning bright.

Come, sit a spell
          and I will tell
                        of grown men hieing,
                        of linen lying,
                        a woman crying.

Come, come around
          and hear the sound
                        of earth a-moan,
                        of rolling stone,
                        the soldiers’ groan.

Come ever so near
          and you will hear
                        “Do not fear,”
                        “Shed no tear,”
                        “He is not here.”

Come, hear my tale
          and I will regale
                        of spice unused,
                        of Death refused,
                        of Serpent bruised.

Come, be amazed
          after you’ve gazed
                        on vacant tomb,
                        on empty room,
                        on purloined doom.

Come and glory
          as I tell the story
                        of a Script fulfilled,
                        a grave unsealed,
                        a Son revealed.

Won’t you marvel and sing
          on resurrection wing?–
                        “The One who did bleed,
                        My Friend in my need,
                        He is risen indeed.”

Jerry Shepherd
Fourth Sunday of Lent
March 30, 2014